


if you will move your icy hands

by csi_sanders1129



Category: The Graveyard Book - Neil Gaiman
Genre: Breathless, Death, Ficuary, Gen or Pre-Slash, Life - Freeform, challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29417463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/csi_sanders1129/pseuds/csi_sanders1129
Summary: In which the Lady on the Grey comes for Nobody Owens.
Relationships: Nobody "Bod" Owens & Silas
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6
Collections: Ficuary





	if you will move your icy hands

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Ficuary 2021, Prompt: Breathless. Could be gen or pre-slash. Title from 'O Death,' by Ralph Stanley. Comments and kudos would be awesome. Enjoy!

The Lady on the Grey appears out of a foggy, moonless night. She and her mount move gracefully through the trees, disturbing them so little that it's as if they were never there at all. An aura of peace surrounds her, as it always does, when she comes.

And tonight she comes for Nobody Owens.

Unlike most of her charges, she's met him before – though it had been under much different circumstances. Fifteen years ago she'd shared a dance with the boy who'd been granted the freedom of the graveyard. She'd promised him, a bit more directly than she promises most people, that someday she would give him a ride on her horse. And now, that ephemeral someday is here.

She dismounts and surveys the scene before her with her typical detached perspective. There had been a fight, that much is evident from the surroundings - scuffs in the dirt, broken tree branches. A body lies in the midst of a clearing deep in the woods. Nobody Owens – Bod – is bruised and bloodied and gasping to fill his lungs with a few last, desperate breaths and maybe even a few last, desperate words. He is not alone, though. His head is cradled in another's lap, long fingers trailing through his blood-caked hair and offering soothing words meant to ease the traces of pain and panic building on his face.

Nobody Owens' guardian, the man who has _always_ been his guardian, looks up, and his dark eyes blow wide at the sight of her. If he still had a heart that could break, she is certain it would be doing that now.

"Silas," she greets, for they have met many times.

"Please," he begs her, "don't."

But she is not one for negotiations. She never has been. That is simply not how death works. If she granted every ardent, heartfelt plea, very few would ever ride with her, would they?

Still, she will spare them one last moment, she can give them that small kindness, at least. She knows well enough that the boy never got that with his first family, and that Silas is doomed to something well beyond her control. She wanders away from them, curious as to the cause of the fight, sure that it was not with each other. She follows a trail of some dark ichor deeper into the dense woods and finds the already rotting corpse of some creature radiating evil still in its own death throes. A demon, she notes. She hasn't seen one of those in quite some time. She's impressed that they managed to stop it, whatever it was up to, with just the two of them. She walks away from the creature – it is not hers to take.

When she returns to the clearing to claim what is hers to take, however, what she finds is not what she expects. Not at all.

"Silas," she warns.

He has his pointed teeth bared against the vulnerable flesh of Bod's neck. There are tears in his eyes as he holds the young man tightly in his arms. It's clear that even in his desperation, he is hesitant to cross this line. He never has before, she knows. He has taken many lives, sent them to her sooner than they might have otherwise come to ride, but he has never stolen one from her like this. There is no coming back from it.

She takes a cautious step closer, knowing that she only need stall Silas for a moment more before it's too late for it to matter, before Nobody Owens has no life left to steal. "You know what you will be damning him to should you do that."

"I cannot follow where he will go. If you will not spare him, what choice do I have?" he demands, looking down at Bod when a hand loosely grasps at his own. "He will be like me, yes," Silas agrees, "but he will also be _with_ me. He will not be alone – he will never be alone. Not like I was."

"Is that what he would want?"

Silas scowls, "He would want to keep fighting, to keep going, to keep _living_."

Bod's breathing has nearly stopped, his heart has nearly stopped. It is nearly over. He is nearly hers – and when he is, he will be safe with her, safe in death from so very many things, but especially safe from the threat that faces him at present. "What you intend will keep him from me," she says, "but don't pretend that what you have is a _life_. We both know it is not."

"It is _enough_ ," Silas decides, with the sort of finality that tells her that her time is up, even if Bod's is not.

Just as he's about to allow his fangs to pierce Bod's too pale skin, she makes a move – a simple wave of her hand, a sharp warning to stop, and suddenly Bod's weary heart beats a bit more steadily beneath Silas's hand. She is not thrilled with the way this situation has resolved itself. "I will spare him," she says, but she cannot let this go so easily. "One day I will come back for him and I promise that you will not be around to interfere when that day comes. I will take him, then, and you will not stop me."

He does not argue, does not challenge her threat. Instead, he thanks her, continues to cling tightly to Bod's body as he slowly comes back to life.

"Silas?" she hears the boy choke out, once again edging on panic. "W-what-?"

Silas pulls him even closer, presses a kiss to the top of his head, gently shushes him. "Breathe, Bod," he urges, "Just breathe. Everything is okay."

The Lady takes her leave – there is nothing here for her now. "Until next time, Nobody Owens," she says, her voice lost on the wind as she mounts her great grey horse and fades back into the dark, moonless night once more.


End file.
